He had no idea how much time had passed. Mijing tilted his head toward the inkstone that had already dried, then looked at Qu Yunmie, who still seemed perfectly energetic.

Mijing: “…”

He drew in a light breath through his nose, and when he slowly released it, his shoulders sank along with it.

 

…

Again, he had no idea how long it had been. Not only had the inkstone dried, even the candle had burned halfway down. Mijing was a serious person. Even if eight out of every ten sentences Qu Yunmie said were utterly meaningless nonsense, he still listened carefully. Still, he’d been exhausted lately—busy all day, and thinking endlessly at night. He hadn’t slept a full night for several days in a row.

Mijing’s hand stopped moving the string of prayer beads. His eyelids slowly drooped. Just as he was about to truly close them, he heard Qu Yunmie ask him a question.

Mijing snapped awake. He looked up at the person across from him as if he hadn’t been dozing at all.

In truth, he had absolutely no idea what Qu Yunmie had asked, but Qu Yunmie was raising a brow at him. “Does the Buddha’s Son find it inappropriate?”

“…”

Mijing weighed Qu Yunmie’s expression and sensed a mocking intent. He more or less understood.

He answered calmly. “I did not mean that.”

The mocking smile on Qu Yunmie’s face vanished instantly. He stared at Mijing in disbelief, then shot to his feet. “‘You did not mean that’?! To make a man a consort is the greatest absurdity under heaven—yet you did not mean that?! Hah! Who would’ve thought? The exalted Buddha’s Son harbored such filthy thoughts!”

Mijing: “…”

This time he truly showed helplessness—not only because he had misjudged the situation, but also because of Qu Yunmie’s tendency to take everything to the extreme.

He opened his mouth and couldn’t help defending himself softly. “Whether it’s a woman made consort or a man made consort—these are worldly matters. Desire is born of emotion, desire breaks precepts. I am a monk and long ago cast aside the seven emotions and six desires. Though I can understand Your Highness’s anger, I cannot personally feel it. From the standpoint of Buddhist thought, men and women alike are illusions. To detach from desire and cultivate in the world is the only path to liberation from suffering.”

At the end of his explanation, Mijing slipped in a little of his own philosophy—though unfortunately, Qu Yunmie understood none of it.

Not only did he not understand—he misunderstood.

After sitting for a while in thought, he looked at Mijing and finally said, “You mean that in the eyes of monks like you, men and women are about the same. So whether one installs a male consort or a female consort, you can accept it.”

Mijing: “…”

No, that was not what I meant.

Regardless, Qu Yunmie had already settled on that conclusion. Earlier he had merely been incredulous, now, the way he looked at Mijing was as though he were beholding some strange creature from beyond the heavens.

Mijing even felt he could read one sentence in Qu Yunmie’s eyes: —So this is what you monks are actually like!

Mijing: “…”

Really?

The one who lost his temper over a madman’s raving was clearly you—yet somehow I became the one with the filthy mind?!

Was there no justice left in the world?!

To be able to anger Mijing to this degree, Qu Yunmie truly was one of a kind. Fortunately he didn’t continue provoking him—otherwise Mijing’s years of cultivation would’ve been ruined in an instant.

After giving Mijing a disdainful once-over, Qu Yunmie stopped speaking. He lowered his gaze, thinking who knew what. Mijing, now fully awake from irritation and free of sleepiness for the moment, quietly resumed rolling his prayer beads and apologized to the Buddha in his heart.

He’d almost committed the sin of anger. No one knew, of course—but Mijing still decided to copy one hundred repetitions of scripture as punishment for himself.

Meanwhile, Qu Yunmie—the cause of all this—remained blissfully unaware. After a while, he suddenly asked Mijing, “You have been to the Western Regions, walked through Tianzhu. Outside the Central Plains… are there also people who take male consorts… and men…?”

He asked this with difficulty. Mijing looked into his eyes and realized he truly wanted an answer.

As if all the earlier fury and venting had merely been preparation for this question—both for others to hear and for himself.

Mijing: “…”

He suddenly realized something.

He never wanted to get involved between Qu Yunmie and Xiao Rong, yet with Qu Yunmie barging in again and again, he had already been dragged in without meaning to.

Mijing’s fingers paused on the prayer beads. With a complicated expression, he lifted his head—only to find Qu Yunmie narrowing his eyes as Mijing remained silent too long.

“Why are you not speaking?”

Mijing: “…”

“If yes, then yes. If no, then no. Remaining silent—what kind of answer is that?”

Mijing: “…”

Qu Yunmie leaned back slightly, looking him up and down with sharp eyes. “Is my question too difficult for you?”

Mijing: “…”

A moment ago he didn’t know how to answer. Now he knew even less. He was a man outside worldly affairs. He truly didn’t wish, indirectly or directly, to affect the relationship between the other two.

There were many things he wished to do in his life. Gossip wasn’t one of them.

Qu Yunmie stared at him for a while—long enough that Mijing felt even the stubble on his head might start growing from sheer discomfort. Then Qu Yunmie snorted, turned away, and looked toward the other side of the room.

Qu Yunmie said, “I’m not the frog in a well you imagine. I have been to Jinling. Everything I should’ve seen—and shouldn’t have seen—I saw.”

Mijing froze for a moment, recalling certain events of the Changan days. Emperor Guangjia ranked among the most lustful even among emperors, and the aristocratic clans had long embraced decadence. Mijing, now in his twenties and capable of captivating quite a few people, had been even more striking at fourteen or fifteen before he took vows—prime prey in the eyes of those indulgent aristocrats.

However, Mijing was of noble birth and under the protection of the abbot, so no one could truly touch him. At most they harassed him with words and disgusting looks. Back then, he wasn’t as calm as he was now. He’d been furious and unable to comprehend how such vile people existed. The abbot had told him: the world holds all kinds of people; a thousand faces, a hundred temperaments. In time he would see far more.

Mijing remembered something Xiao Rong had once told him in jest: Qu Yunmie’s niece once said Xiao Rong resembled Qu Yunmie. Indeed, there wasn’t a trace of resemblance now, but beauty lay in the bones, not the skin. People always saw Qu Yunmie’s armor first, and his spear Snow-Drinking Vengeance, which had taken countless lives—before noticing he himself was a sharply featured, strikingly handsome man. If he had been shorter and younger, perhaps he truly would’ve resembled Xiao Rong.

With such looks, combined with his disgraced and vulnerable status back then, one could easily imagine what he encountered in Jinling.

Mijing blurted out, “No wonder Your Highness dislikes beautiful people.”

In Qu Yunmie’s eyes, beauty equated to weakness and helplessness. What he truly hated was the version of himself that had lived through that stage.

Qu Yunmie stared at Mijing in bewilderment. He didn’t understand what Mijing meant, yet reacted instinctively by snapping back. “Did Gao Xunzhi tell you that? Don’t listen to his nonsense. I have never disliked beautiful people. I only dislike those who possess beauty yet cannot protect themselves, who know nothing but crying and relying on others.”

Mijing understood. He smiled. “Young Master Xiao isn’t that kind of person.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

He wanted to say you mentioned Xiao Rong, not me—but it was late, and he was tired. After a pause, he said softly, “Of course he isn’t.”

Then he slowly exhaled. “That is why Murong Yi infuriates me so. Xiao Rong is one of the bravest, toughest men I have ever met. Though his body is somewhat frail, he has nothing to do with the word weak. He is like me—one of the rare true men of this world. How could a true man… could a true man… I cannot even utter those two words. It is outrageous!”

Qu Yunmie glared at the table, angry. Mijing watched him and sighed inwardly.

This was why monks lived in temples. Once one returned to the mortal world, there was always someone—using all sorts of reasons—to drag you back into worldly entanglements.

“What Your Highness says is true. Young Master Xiao is indeed a true man.”

Qu Yunmie felt complicated—angry and a little sour. He didn’t wish to respond.

Mijing continued. “A true man is not controlled by the words or actions of others. They have their own inner measure of what should and should not be done. They listen only to themselves, not to others. That ‘others’ includes you, Your Highness.”

Qu Yunmie looked at Mijing, stunned, but Mijing had already lowered his gaze. “It grows late. Your Highness should rest. If tomorrow Your Highness sets out for Shuofang, I also wish to travel together. Please have someone inform me.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

Dismissed, he actually rose obediently. In a daze he walked out and the cold wind cleared his mind instantly.

He was about to return and continue pounding on the door, but as soon as he raised his fist, he hesitated.

Slowly, he lowered it. He looked at the ground, then at Mijing’s door. After standing silently for a while, he left.

 

*

 

Qu Yunmie went to sleep. Mijing, however, couldn’t sleep at all. He felt a bit of regret—but not fully. He didn’t know if he had done the right thing, but as the old abbot always said: some things did not need to be done according to the “right” answer.

After lying rigidly for half an hour and still unable to sleep, Mijing rose quietly, put on his outer robe, and went out to find work to do.

After being interrogated by Qu Yunmie, Murong Yi was terrified and deranged for several days—more deranged each day. After speaking with the Buddha’s Son for half the night, he somehow became clear-headed again, though he looked even stranger than before. Previously he would at least speak a few words or make a few motions. Now he was like a wooden puppet, staring blankly at the sky outside. Jian Qiao stood at the door watching him for a long time, and felt the man was either about to enter deep meditation or enter the grave.

 

…

 

No one knew what Mijing had said to Murong Yi, but he obtained the portrait of Han Qing. His credit had been stolen by the Buddha’s Son. Qu Yunmie stared at the back of Mijing’s head and felt he disliked him a bit more.

 

…

 

After breakfast, the group set out. By noon they arrived outside Shuofang City. Shuofang was built along an oasis in the desert, but it was winter now, so the oasis was no longer green.

Horses moved poorly here, camels were the true means of travel. Hearing the two had returned, Xiao Rong immediately rode a camel to greet them.

It only took half a day for Xiao Rong to fall in love with camels—their thick fur, warmth, and built-in backrest. Trained camels even knelt down on their own for riders. This was much better than horses. Horses only snorted at you when you failed to mount and continued standing there disdainfully.

Camels also had one advantage over horses—they were taller. Sitting atop one, Xiao Rong experienced for the first time what it felt like to look down on Qu Yunmie.

Feeling a secret thrill, he patted the hump, and the camel obediently knelt. After he dismounted, he looked longingly at the tall creature. “So comfortable to ride.”

He turned to Qu Yunmie, already walking up beside him. “Can I keep one in Chenliu?”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

He never saw camels raised on open plains.

However, Xiao Rong looked at him with such expectation—his mind seemed to depart for a moment—and Qu Yunmie heard himself say, with great bravado, “Why one? Keep ten!”

Mijing: “…”

Shaking his head, he left.

Xiao Rong watched Mijing’s departing back, not understanding why he was in such a rush. The battlefield had been cleared yesterday. Since he hadn’t come yesterday to perform rites, there was no need to hurry now.

Qu Yunmie didn’t like seeing him pay so much attention to the Buddha’s Son, so he pulled out the portrait from his sleeve—the one he had forced from Mijing while they were on the road. Mijing hadn’t asked a single question and handed it over immediately.

Qu Yunmie didn’t mention it had been obtained through the Buddha’s Son. Xiao Rong didn’t ask. He only said in surprise, “Thank you, My Lord!”

Qu Yunmie responded guiltily yet with satisfaction. “This is a trifle.”

However, as soon as Xiao Rong unfolded the portrait, he frowned. “This… this is far too sloppy. Posted like this, no one would recognize who it is. Do you still remember how Murong Yi described Han Qing? I want to redraw it.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

He was exposed.

 

*

 

Xiao Rong couldn’t draw. He knew only the fat little birds from basic school ink painting and the simplest three-view sketches. As for human figures… he could only draw stickmen.

Still, that was fine. He was now the Grand Preceptor Xiao. He didn’t need to do everything himself. With one order, someone immediately came to assist.

The Buddha’s Son provided the description, Xiao Rong provided pressure. The temporary painter was sweating through his clothes yet still had to revise the portrait over and over. At last it looked like a clear human face. Xiao Rong showed it to the Buddha Son first. “Is this the appearance you described?”

Those who were poor at drawing also had weak sensitivity to faces. Watching the painter revise it a dozen times, Xiao Rong could no longer judge whether it was right or not.

Mijing: “…”

He fell silent.

Xiao Rong’s heart lurched. “Is it wrong?”

Xiao Rong feared if he pushed the painter to revise it again, the man might draw a knife and kill himself.

 

…

 

Mijing opened his mouth. “Not wrong, exactly, but this face…”

He sounded uncertain. “I feel as if I have seen it somewhere.”

Xiao Rong stared.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Han River, in the Yiyang Commandery.

Even with Gao Xunzhi here, their actions were still a case of acting first and reporting later. Song Shuo wrote a hurried report in the night about their planned attack on Yiyang. As soon as he sent the letter, Gao Xunzhi allocated troops to Di Fazeng.

Because it was a surprise attack, they didn’t depart in broad daylight but slipped out in the dead of night, all marching urgently toward Yiyang.

The Han River was heavily guarded, Southern Yong’s soldiers watched the northern bank daily. So they followed Gao Xunzhi’s original plan—traveling by land from Jingzhou, crossing the River, detouring through Nanyang Commandery, and approaching Yiyang City without alerting the river defenses.

Zhang Bizhi was full of doubt. He truly didn’t know how Di Fazeng meant to take Yiyang with only ten thousand men. Yet Di Fazeng was so confident—as if taking Yiyang were as easy as picking something off the ground.

They reached a hillside. Di Fazeng told everyone to hide. Zhang Bizhi crouched beside him and couldn’t help asking, “You’re not planning to climb the city walls, are you?”

Yiyang’s walls were far lower than Shengle’s, so climbing them was easy enough. After climbing—then what? They had no king to lead a charge. When the armies clashed, numbers still decided the outcome. With only ten thousand men, it was hard to say whether they could defeat Yiyang’s garrison.

Di Fazeng glanced at him. “Do you know who the Prefect of Yiyang is?”

Zhang Bizhi: “…”

He did not—but refused to admit it. After struggling to recall, he finally found a trace of memory. “Someone from the Yang clan, I think?”

Because he was related to Yang Zhangyi—the man who had nearly gotten them all killed—Zhang Bizhi remembered him.

Di Fazeng nodded. “Yang Shizhen. He is the cousin of the Prime Minister Yang. Ever since the Yang clan moved south ten years ago, he has been Prefect of Yiyang. The regions near Jinling have long been carved up by the great families. Yiyang is Yang clan territory. So the court has never replaced him.”

Zhang Bizhi looked at Di Fazeng irritably. “What does that have to do with how you plan to get in?”

Di Fazeng looked at his utterly clueless expression and sighed, unsurprised.

Zhang Bizhi: “…”

I didn’t mock you, yet you dare sigh at me?!

Before he could explode, Di Fazeng said, “Yiyang doesn’t belong to the Southern Yong court—it belongs to the Yang family. The guards here listen to the Yang Clan. Yang Shizhen has run this place for years, he is the one with real authority.”

This time Di Fazeng’s meaning was clearer. Zhang Bizhi stared blankly at him, struggling for quite a while, until at last inspiration struck. In a small voice he asked, “You mean—capture the ringleader first?”

Di Fazeng turned and gave a rare slight smile. “Yang Shizhen keeps a concubine in the Jiangxia Commandery. She’s an illegitimate daughter of the Yang family of Jiangxia, unsuitable for formal status, so he keeps her outside. But he likes her very much and visits once or twice a month. His wife is the legitimate daughter of another great family. Yang Shizhen has low status within the Yangs and cannot afford to offend her. So for years he has kept these visits secret. Whenever he goes, he doesn’t dare bring many guards—or his own private soldiers.”

Hearing this, Zhang Bizhi finally understood. “So when Yang Shizhen goes to visit that woman, we intercept him on the road. Then we use him to threaten the Southern Yong forces guarding the city—forcing them to open the gates. With Yang Shizhen in our hands, they won’t dare act rashly, and outside the city we can beat information out of him—like how many troops are inside.”

Di Fazeng: “…”

“It doesn’t need to be that complicated. Yang Shizhen is the most cowardly official I have ever seen. Once we capture him, you’ll understand. He’ll do whatever you tell him.”

He gave a cold chuckle. “Open the gates? Too easy. I want them to lay down their weapons on their own and surrender obediently.”

Zhang Bizhi blurted out, “Who would be that stupid?! You’re daydreaming!”

Di Fazeng cast a glance at Zhang Bizhi, this time he didn’t explain.

Cities differed from city to city, soldiers differed from soldier to soldier, and north of the Han River there were almost no aristocratic clans left. So Zhang Bizhi simply didn’t know how terrifying the clans’ control over a place has been. This was their difficulty, and also their fatal flaw.

Southern Yong has been established for ten years, and Di Fazeng has also lingered in Southern Yong for ten years. Even if he never entered Southern Yong’s court, after observing for so many years, many things no longer needed thought—they naturally etched themselves into his mind. This land was rotten, much like his homeland, Rouran. One practiced slavery and one practiced feudal rule, yet the difference was not so great. Those at the top always found ways to trample those at the bottom, whether or not the latter possessed the status of a slave.

In fact, if Di Fazeng had been asked, he would have said that Rouran was stronger than Southern Yong, because even Rouran’s slaves still possessed some fierceness. They at least knew to cause trouble from time to time and give their masters headaches. Yet here in Southern Yong, from top to bottom, everyone was gutless.

 

…

 

Because the situation north of the Han River was far too chaotic, and because the commissions offered weren’t as rich as those in Southern Yong, Di Fazeng rarely went north. Even when he did, he always had tasks to carry out and no time to pay attention to the north’s characteristics.

Thus, it wasn’t until this year that he discovered that people of the Central Plains didn’t lack fierceness—they’d simply had it beaten out of them by the court and the clans. Once given an opportunity, they seized it at once: studying, joining the army, improving their lives. Verbal attacks indeed could make a powerful force slowly lose its standing, but when facts spoke louder than argument, words no longer mattered much.

The Northern Army was destined to win.

The King of the North was destined to ascend the throne of supreme power.

This was the truth Di Fazeng gradually understood. Not even Xiao Rong’s brilliant rhetoric had truly moved him before—he’d still hesitated, and even refused to show his true skills. However, once he realized this truth, Di Fazeng immediately changed his attitude toward the Northern Army.

Human beings always sought profit and avoided harm. Since he already knew this army was bound to win, why shouldn’t he join them?

The King of the North was young—his throne wouldn’t be the end of his life. His future held more, brighter things. Following such a ruler was like standing in the grand arena for life, the thought alone made one’s blood surge.

Di Fazeng didn’t dislike smiling—he simply didn’t show emotion before those he didn’t trust. Once he began trusting the people around him, he showed all kinds of expressions.

For example now, ambition blazed in Di Fazeng’s eyes. Yiyang’s city gates seemed no longer like gates but like a stepping stone that belonged to him. His glorious life would begin here. From this day on, his identity as a mercenary would be in the past. He would no longer live to guard—he would live to conquer.

Every cell of his body clamored. His heart pounded fiercely. Gone was his former half-dead manner. He was reveling in this moment of transformation. Before he could savor it, someone suddenly bumped into his shoulder clumsily. The collision made him stagger and almost slam his face into the dirt pit ahead.

Di Fazeng: “…”

He turned his head. Zhang Bizhi, after a full mental storm, finally came back to himself. He looked at Di Fazeng in confusion and asked, “How do you know so much about Yang Shizhen?”

Di Fazeng replied, “In the summer of Shengde, Year Three, he hired me as a guard and had me escort him from Yiyang to Jiangxia. Two months later, he kicked me out.”

Zhang Bizhi asked, “It has been three years. What if that woman already died?”

Di Fazeng answered, “She didn’t.”

Zhang Bizhi insisted, “How do you know?”

Di Fazeng said, “Because when I was in Jinling, I heard that the woman was still looking for me. She wanted to hire me back as a household servant.”

Zhang Bizhi: “…”

He had asked in vain.

Also, why could someone like Di Fazeng—with that deadpan face—attract a woman’s interest, while he himself, lively and considerate as he was, could do nothing but furtively touch a woman’s hand when frequenting brothels, and in daily life only be avoided?!

No one knew the answer.

 

…

 

Because Di Fazeng was with them, they soon caught the prefect who intended to meet with his lover in secret. This prefect was truly terrified of death—he kept repeating, “Don’t kill me.” He even tried to bribe Zhang Bizhi. Zhang Bizhi refused to touch his money. Seeing that this path failed, the prefect stared at Zhang Bizhi in panic. Heaven knew what he thought he saw. Suddenly, he burst into loud sobs and cried. “Spare me, brave sir! If money isn’t enough, I still have twelve concubines for you to enjoy! If you prefer fiery-tempered women, even my wife can be offered to you!”

Zhang Bizhi: “…”

So no one in your Yang family was a decent person, huh?!

He kicked the prefect aside angrily. “Stay away from me! Do you take me for you, who can’t walk straight upon seeing a woman?!”

Di Fazeng shook his head. He lifted the dirt-covered Prefect Yang by the collar and asked him, “Do you remember me?”

Prefect Yang stared blankly. Suddenly his face changed. “You—you’re that Rouran man!”

Di Fazeng said, “Good. Then do you remember how I killed those seven bandits?”

Prefect Yang: “…”

His expression grew even more terrified. His legs trembled, his teeth chattered. “D-Don’t kill me… I’ll give you anything you want.”

Di Fazeng threw him to the nearby soldiers, then turned to Zhang Bizhi. “It’s done.”

Zhang Bizhi raised an eyebrow. He didn’t praise him, he only asked, “Seven bandits?”

Di Fazeng explained, “We encountered them halfway during the escort. Meeting those seven was what allowed me to see how cowardly this prefect truly was.”

Zhang Bizhi roared with laughter and went off to prepare for the assault.

 

*

Thanks to the Hu people, there had been almost no major unrest in Southern Yong for nearly ten years—only small disturbances. People of the time even thought the world had been peaceful for years.

Precisely because of this, when war erupted without warning, everyone was caught off guard, including the cities near Yiyang.

Back then, Shen Yangrui had taken three cities in Yizhou in a single day. Now Di Fazeng also captured Yiyang City in a single day. When this news spread, the Southern Yong court sent the current Prefect of Lujiang to send reinforcements. By the time the five thousand troops he dispatched arrived, Yiyang’s gates were already shut again, and the soldiers atop the walls had been replaced by the Northern Army. Zhang Bizhi stood atop the gate and loudly mocked the five thousand reinforcements. When their faces flushed from humiliation, he immediately ducked back into the tower.

After all, he was no longer a general, only a supervising officer. He still planned to continue his official career, so he no longer needed to worry about being laughed at by soldiers.

Seizing Yiyang had been an act of revenge. Venting frustration mattered more than treating it as a strategic location. After taking the city, Di Fazeng and his group remained inside, planning to exhaust the enemy’s grain and morale while waiting for new reports from Chenliu.

Others didn’t know the Northern Army’s intentions. Not only the cities near Yiyang but also faraway Wuling and Xiangdong were stunned. The common people packed their bundles overnight, poured into the streets and then stared around in confusion.

Where could they flee?

People from the north could flee south, but could southerners flee north?

Thinking of this, some people nearly collapsed in despair.

Within one household, this bleak question unexpectedly became one of the possible solutions.

In the Song family of Xiangdong, the current clan head—Song Shuo’s father—held a meeting with several key clan members. “The court has sent troops to attack north of the Han River. Now Yiyang has been seized and has become a possession of the Northern Army. I fear the flames of war will spread. We should leave quickly.”

Someone hesitated. “Though Shuo is quite respected in Chenliu, to abandon our estate and go to a place unfamiliar to us… perhaps matters have not yet reached such urgency.”

Another disagreed. “Not urgent?! Lucky Shuo didn’t follow you. He wisely left court and secured a place for himself in the capital of the King of the North. Because he was smart, we now have this escape route. It is more than an escape route—it is an opportunity. The King of the North shines like the midday sun. He seems determined to build Chenliu into his future capital. Chenliu has no aristocratic clans. Once we arrive, we will be the only clan. Do you still not understand?”

Song Shuo’s father: “…”

He understood, but he felt the man was naïve. Clans didn’t become dominant simply by arriving first. Moreover, Song Shuo had written clearly in his letters that the one who truly held power wasn’t his son but that young man named Xiao Rong. Xiao Rong didn’t recognize clans and had no intention of supporting them. If they went, things might not be as that man imagined.

Still, Song Shuo’s father wanted to go. First, he missed his son. Second, even if their status didn’t rise, he still wished to show his loyalty to the King of the North. Going now was more sincere than going after the dust settled.

Besides, Song Shuo had praised Chenliu in his letters as though it were unmatched under heaven. Such a fine place—he also wanted to see what it looked like.

After some discussion, they finally decided to leave quickly. The Song family was not a particularly large clan, but when their entire group evacuated, it caused quite a stir—they left with more than five hundred people.

The Song family themselves probably did not expect to become a role model for others. Clans always received news first—since they were fleeing north of the Han River, did this not mean the Northern Army would not kill them, and might even welcome them?

The timid still dared not move, but the bold followed. Rumor spread, and many ordinary people who were tempted also began to depart.

This was the situation farther from Yiyang, the places closer to Yiyang were even more chaotic.

The most terrified city was the unlucky Jiangxia, where the concubine lived.

Jiangxia itself wasn’t special, but Xiakou Town was inside Jiangxia City.

Ever since the news arrived that Qu Yunmie wasn’t dead, Chen Jiancheng had been anxious. He sent people to look for Han Qing, but Han Qing didn’t appear. Even though the unique signals of the Qingfeng Sect had appeared throughout the north of the Huai, Han Qing had things he needed to do and refused to show himself. Chen Jiancheng could only wait anxiously in Xiakou.

For a time, Chen Jiancheng even thought Han Qing had died—until Han Qing returned to Yanzhou, contacted the believers there, and then rushed over to meet Chen Jiancheng.

When Chen Jiancheng learned Han Qing was safe, he cried. Yet when Han Qing actually appeared before him, he scolded him in anger.

This in itself wasn’t unusual. Han Qing had known Chen Jiancheng for many years and knew his temperament well. Similar scenes had happened more than once. He knew what to do, but he didn’t expect an accident this time.

When Chen Jiancheng grew furious, he often spoke without thinking. Today was the same. He even said something Han Qing had never heard before.

“Zhou Luan was right! You always think you know better! You don’t treat me, your sect leader, as anything at all!”

Han Qing looked up in surprise.

Seeing his expression, Chen Jiancheng instantly regretted it. He had never spoken to Han Qing like this before, yet somehow the words had slipped out. He feared Han Qing would be angry, and feared he would stop helping him. He quickly apologized, saying he had only spoken out of concern.

Chen Jiancheng never truly reflected even when apologizing. As he spoke, he pushed the blame onto Zhou Luan—Zhou Luan sowed discord, Zhou Luan made him misunderstand. Han Qing, everything was Zhou Luan’s fault, never his own.

 

…

Although Zhou Luan was indeed not innocent, being sold out so thoroughly by Chen Jiancheng was still pitiful.

Han Qing looked at Chen Jiancheng and smiled. “Sect Leader needn’t say these things to me. I know it was for my sake, and Zhou Luan wasn’t wrong. I have indeed focused solely on eliminating the King of the North, and for that I even refused to obey the Sect Leader’s orders.”

Chen Jiancheng looked at him, touched. “You are always so sincere.”

Han Qing smiled again and let the warmth of the scene linger a moment before asking, “Zhou Luan seems to have misunderstood me. May I ask where the Sect Leader has arranged for him to stay? I would like to visit him—may I?”

 

*

 

Events always happened swiftly, but for news to spread, time was required.

For example, Han Qing’s portrait was still on the road, and the arrest warrant for him was still being printed. After the printing was done, it would take another two days.

When the Jinling government learned that Song Shuo had arranged for people to seize Yiyang City, they were enraged. Yang Zangyi suffered first, and Song Shuo was officially marked as an enemy by Jinling officials. Before the Song family departed, they received this news and immediately hastened their preparations, loaded everything, and headed toward the north of the Han River.

So many things had happened, yet Xiao Rong remained unaware. No matter what occurred, his body simply didn’t react.

Sometimes he even suspected that the binding had been undone. Then he would try to trick Qu Yunmie with a few words—for example, telling him to dissolve the Northern Army.

The thought was far too outrageous. Even thinking such a thing made Xiao Rong uncomfortable. Once he confirmed the binding was still intact, he would smile at Qu Yunmie apologetically and say, “Sorry, I was joking.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

When Song Shuo’s urgent report arrived, stating they planned to attack Yiyang City, Xiao Rong could no longer smile.

 

…

 

Xiao Rong shot to his feet, disbelief on his face. “Attack Yiyang?!

“How could Song Shuo have such an idea?!”

Qu Yunmie reacted less strongly. He considered Yiyang’s location and even let out a faint, meaningful laugh. “This scholar has some merit. Yiyang is well placed—not too near nor too far from Jinling. It will enrage Jinling, but not enough to make them mobilize an army to rescue it. Hm. Quite clever.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

He felt like he was going mad. “Your Majesty! Song Shuo split Chenliu’s defensive forces! Now the Northern Army isn’t fighting on three fronts but four! Even with many troops, we cannot withstand such strain! If anything goes wrong on any front, what will we use to rescue them?!”

Qu Yunmie looked at Xiao Rong’s worried expression and frowned slightly. “Use me.”

Xiao Rong froze.

Qu Yunmie pressed his lips together and stood. He spoke reassuringly. “The Khitan have already sent back good news. Yu Shaocheng and Gongsun Yuan cooperated well. Within a month, they will take Khitan. Shuofang and Shengle have already been captured, only the Xihai Commandery remains. I originally planned to go there myself, but since the south also has issues, let Jian Qiao go. Xihai’s defenders number less than ten thousand. As long as Jian Qiao doesn’t lose his way, he will return before the heavy snow. He might even visit the Xiongnu and kill the more than ten thousand who fled.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Weren’t they supposed to be small fry not worth attention?

Liar.

Qu Yunmie didn’t notice Xiao Rong’s silent protest and continued. “Leave Yizhou and Ningzhou to Yuan Baifu and Wang Xinyong. Whether they take them or not, I do not plan to worry about them for now. Since we have already swallowed Yiyang, there is no reason to return it to Southern Yong. The central forces will stay in Chenliu. Half of Chenliu’s original garrison will guard Yiyang, the other half will assist Yuan Baifu and Wang Xinyong. In this way, even with four fronts, there is nothing to fear.”

Xiao Rong blinked. Hearing the meaning hidden in Qu Yunmie’s words, he hesitated. “Your Majesty… you mean… we should return to Chenliu?”

Qu Yunmie chuckled. “It is time to return in triumph.”

Xiao Rong had been away for over a month. Qu Yunmie had been away for almost three. While traveling, they had little mood for sentiment, but once they realized home was near, they found they both missed it a little.

Xiao Rong grew excited, though he didn’t notice it himself—his hands gestured far wider than usual. “Then I will go find Brother Yu and the monk to arrange the next steps!”

Qu Yunmie watched him leave with amusement, and he too felt light and at ease.

Home. Triumph. Though there had been twists, and events he wished never to remember, all had turned out well. Unconsciously, he had forgotten what it felt like to treat Yanmen Pass as home. Now his home was in Chenliu, and he already missed its scenery and the people there.

When he returned, he planned to drink heartily with everyone.

He hadn’t yet realized this was impossible — since some people would never reunite with him again.

…………

On the Ningzhou side, in the Qinling Mountains, upon the Lianyun Plank Road.

After traveling for over ten days, Wang Xinyong and the others finally reached the edge of Ningzhou. Once they crossed this plank road, they would enter Ningzhou’s territory. After descending the Baoxie Road, they would reach the famed Hanzhong Basin.

Wang Xinyong walked behind Yuan Baifu, looking at the thickening forest. He realized this was a remote place. He suddenly stopped. “General Yuan, where exactly are we going?”

Yuan Baifu also halted. He looked at the dense woods not far ahead. He had been here more than once. The first time he had come with Qu Yunmie. The second time alone to suppress a rebellion. The third time, with Wang Xinyong.

If one visited a place three times, one became familiar with it.

Yuan Baifu turned and saw the increasing wariness in Wang Xinyong’s eyes. He suddenly smiled, then waved toward what appeared to be empty forest. In an instant, his personal guards leaped out.

Every general had men loyal to him alone. Though these men bore the insignia of the Northern Army, they listened only to Yuan Baifu. If Yuan Baifu wished to act, they would not stop him—they would only think, General, you finally came around.

Winners became kings, defeated usurpers were a common tale. Many deputy generals attempted to seize the position of their commanders. Most failed, which was why people remained shocked by such events. Those men never thought they would fail, and neither did Yuan Baifu.

Wang Xinyong had been summoned by Yuan Baifu and had brought only four guards. They were no match for Yuan Baifu’s men.

He cried in fury, “Yuan Baifu! Are you rebelling?!”

Yuan Baifu laughed louder. “Compared to Qu Yunmie, who exactly is the rebel? Your Lord hasn’t even proclaimed himself Emperor, yet you are already eager to kneel before him.”

Yuan Baifu himself hadn’t struck yet, but two of Wang Xinyong’s guards were already dead. The last two guarded him as they retreated, but bloodshed meant death. Seeing this, Wang Xinyong fled with the final surviving guard, but after only a few steps, he froze in horror.

What had looked like dense forest was, one step ahead, a sheer cliff.

He had sprinted too quickly and barely stopped himself from falling. At that moment, he suddenly felt a powerful force shoving him from behind.

When a person was rejected—whether by someone or even by something—they felt terrible. Even when pushing a locked door, one felt inexplicably upset, and if the feeling intensified, it became sorrow.

If rejection by a door felt like that, then being rejected from the world of the living by Yuan Baifu’s two hands felt far worse.

As he plunged downward, he saw Yuan Baifu looking down at him expressionlessly. That brief moment of eye contact made him realize he had never understood this man at all. He wondered whether the King and Jian Qiao would feel the same as he did now.

That instant stretched long in Wang Xinyong’s perception, yet in Yuan Baifu’s, it never existed.

As the two figures shrank and vanished, Yuan Baifu turned toward the soldiers loyal only to him and smiled again.

He had never smiled so wildly, so freely, in his life. “Let’s go. We return.”

The guards said, “Yes, sir!”

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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